


Just a Routine Checkup

by Croik



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve is too busy saving the world to visit Bucky in Wakanda, he sends Sam to check up on him.  For Bucky, this has its pros and cons.  Mostly cons.  But definitely some pros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Routine Checkup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csichick_2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csichick_2/gifts).



> I took your advice and decided to ignore Bucky going back into cryofreeze. But otherwise it's canon compliant. I hope you like it!

If there was a bright side to being a wanted fugitive living in hiding within the most secluded nation in the world, it was the gym.

With T'Challa having taken a personal interest in his recovery, Bucky had been granted access to facilities unlike anything he'd seen. Weight rooms, pools, rock walls, tracks, even arenas modeled after urban downtowns—all of it built to withstand greater stress and force than a normal human could have exerted. It was a training field fit for a prince who also dabbled in heroics, and coincidentally perfect for a former assassin relearning his limits.

Because it had been a long time since Bucky had been able to take any pride in his own body, let alone in exerting it. Training was only for the mission. Exercise was only for marks on a chart. Even after those torturous years he wasn't able to risk any show of strength for fear of discovery. His anonymity and therefore his entire life depended on keeping his "talents" secret.

But now, Bucky could run. The track was his favorite of the various options at his disposal and he used it often, running laps in the heat of the afternoon. He ran until the sweat was in his eyes and his knees ached, which for a super soldier was quite a while. The first few times, it was all about the catharsis. He'd return to his room as the sky began to turn orange feeling ragged and exposed, as if he'd run straight out of his skin. He was a cliché and he couldn't sleep at night, but he kept doing it anyway.

It got better. Pretty soon, it got great. He reveled in the sweat and the ache, the sore feet, the thinning adrenaline. He tested and timed himself, pushing his inhuman strength to its limits. He was getting faster, and for once, he liked that thought. He excelled and didn't fear what he was capable of. In fact, he felt pretty damn good.

After one such run, while he was draped out across a bench gulping down cool water, he heard the thump of a duffel hitting the ground. He craned his head to look and then flinched at the sight of Sam Wilson heading toward him. And then tried to hide that he'd flinched by taking another drink from his water bottle.

"His Highness said I'd find you here," said Sam as he approached. He was overdressed in slacks and a button down, the duffel he'd left behind indicating he'd come straight from the airport. "Typical."

"Wilson." Bucky wasn't in the best position—one leg on the bench, one off, head resting on a towel—but he didn't make any effort to fix it as Sam sat down by his feet. "Back so soon?"

"Soon?" Sam made a face at him. "It's been six weeks. You should know, I've saved the world three times over since I last saw you."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Uh-huh."

"Don't even play like that," said Sam, turning on the bench so that he was straddling it. If he was trying to draw Bucky's attention down to his thighs, it worked. "I know you wish you were out there, too. I'd even leave you some of the small fry to clean up."

Bucky drummed his fingers against his stomach. Sam had that look on his face that he hated: anticipation. Like it was a foregone conclusion how they were going to end. He didn't want to make it that easy on him, but then again, he _was_ feeling pretty good after his run. "If it's so busy for you out there," he asked, "what are you doing here?"

A sly grin parted Sam's lips, and even Bucky had to admit, he had had some charm in him when he wanted. "Steve asked me to check up on you," he said, scooting closer.

He touched Bucky's bare foot; Bucky drew it in, bending his knee up. "Check up on me," he echoed. "Like the last time?"

Sam scooted forward again and gripped Bucky's ankle. "Like the last _two_ times," he reminded him, and he picked Bucky's foot off the bench, guiding it back so he could slide in closer.

Bucky allowed it. The bench wasn't very wide and he didn't have much choice but to hook his legs over Sam's thighs just to stay balanced. But he didn't give him any more than that. Even when their bodies slotting together quickened his pulse, he kept his face neutral and fingers calmly drumming.

"The first time didn't count," he said.

Sam scoffed. "The hell it didn't."

"You're the one who begged me to forget about it," Bucky pressed, ignoring the hands creeping to his hips. "'I didn't mean to get carried away like that, Barnes. Let's pretend it didn't happen.'"

"Hey, now." Sam grimaced as he fingered Bucky's waistband. "I didn't mean it like that."

"'It's not even a big deal or anything, it was just a quick—'"

"Barnes," Sam interrupted, leaning forward to grip the bench on either side of him. "Are you gonna let me do my job or what?"

Bucky caught himself holding his breath. Any other time he might have been embarrassed by himself, but his entire body was so agreeably lax with fatigue, Sam's body so fresh and eager. The leaning brought them closer together and he could feel the outline of Sam's cock against the inside of his thigh. It was Sam's tension that turned the summer heat soaking through him into something more: he was excited, and nervous, and annoyed all at once, because what they were doing probably wasn't a good idea. But damn did if he didn't want to do it anyway.

"Go ahead," Bucky taunted. "Check me up."

Sam's eyes flashed with an intensity that could have come from any number of fascinating emotions, and he sat up again, reaching behind him. He found and squeezed Bucky's feet, digging his thumbs into the arches. It felt better than it had any business feeling and Bucky was hard pressed not to make a noise.

"You've been working these puppies, haven't you?" Sam teased, kneading his way from the balls of Bucky's feet up toward his ankles. His hands were damn strong and Bucky could have stayed there all night. "Still not ticklish, though, huh?"

"You're welcome to try," said Bucky, fighting to keep his toes from clenching.

Sam declined the invitation and moved on to his calves. "These, too," he said. He massaged up and down the weary muscles, which was heaven enough, but had the added bonus of shifting their bodies against each other with each push and draw of his hands. "You're really toning up nicely."

"You know I've been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you, right?" said Bucky, trying to sound offended even though Sam's hands working into the backs of his sore knees was already making him hard. He'd been out of the playing field way too long if that much attention was all it took. "I don't need your opinions."

"Oh, I know, old man," Sam shot back. "You probably _invented_ leg day." His hands drifted to Bucky's hamstrings with equal strength, his fingertips sneaking just below the edge of his shorts with each pass. "But here's the real meat, huh? This is where it really shows."

It was getting harder to feign disinterest. Bucky hooked his heels behind Sam's back and let his knees fall apart just enough, welcoming Sam's hands to the insides of his thighs. Their slow, knobby caress was almost perfection; he couldn't help but arch his back as firm fingers inched toward his groin. "You like that, huh?" he goaded, as if Sam wouldn't be able to see and feel the growing swell of his erection. "You're enjoying yourself?"

"Hey, I'm doing this for you. I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself." Sam might have sounded earnest just then, but then his hands dove up the back of Bucky's shorts. "At least your ass is still intact after last time," he said, giving it a hard squeeze. "I was worried."

"You don't have anything I can't take," Bucky assured him, lifting his hips so Sam could get a handful.

Sam partook gladly. Even though he clearly _was_ enjoying the game he'd started, he looked like his restraint was slipping. "We'll see about that," he said, but then he forced his hands to continue on, gliding up Bucky's abdomen and ribs. "Oh hey, look at you. Been working on your six pack, too."

Bucky moved his hand from his stomach to behind his head. "Did you mean for that to rhyme?"

Sam rolled his eyes and started peeling Bucky's sweat-soaked shirt off him. "You're real funny, you know that, Barnes?"

Bucky assisted him in taking it off only as much as he had to. He felt Sam hesitate over the stump where his left arm had been, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch it. Bucky hurried them past; as soon as the shirt was on the ground, he grabbed Sam by the collar of his and dragged him down into a kiss. He was surprised by how hungry he was for it; Sam's last visit had had its definite perks, and yes it had been on his mind since, but Sam's mouth was hotter and sweeter than he remembered. He sucked and gnawed at his lips and squeezed with his thighs. He was proud of the body he'd been toning and he wanted Sam to know it, to worship it.

Sam happily reciprocated, grinding their cocks together as they crammed their lips together. He was growing swiftly hard himself and Bucky liked the thought that he'd been just as hungry for this, too. He'd be sure to tease him about it later.

Sam broke the kiss and leaned back so he could undo his belt. "I already figured your mouth was still in working order," he said smartly. "Full marks for that."

"Just shut up already," Bucky retorted, "and get it out."

He sounded more desperate than he meant for, but it did the trick; Sam was all out of comments as he shoved his briefs down just enough to get his cock free. Gentleman that he was, he helped Bucky's out of his shorts, too. As soon as both dicks were free Bucky reached down, squeezing them together. He didn't bother giving Sam a warm-up—just went straight to hard, quick strokes, slick with sweat and burning in the heat.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Sam breathed, and not to be outdone he gripped the bench so he had enough leverage to pump his hips. "Jesus, Barnes, I didn't realize—"

"Don't," Bucky said quickly, so beyond uninterested in anything he had left to say. "Not another word." He repositioned his knees and thighs to make it easier for Sam to thrust against him. It was clumsy; they hadn't done this enough to know each other's rhythm. Sam moved too much and Bucky had to keep adjusting his grip to accommodate them both. One particularly enthusiastic rock shook Bucky's balance and he pawed at Sam with his feet to keep from spilling off the bench. It wasn't too often that he felt real bitterness over the loss of his arm, but he felt it then.

But then Sam grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back into place. He kept a firm grip even after they were righted, and Bucky hated himself for how reassuring he found it. Trusting Sam to maintain their stability, he devoted his focus entirely to stroking and fondling, rolling his hips to better match Sam's thrusts. The slick friction drew his weary body in tight and blazing, and despite his best efforts, a moan rippled out of him.

"Hell yeah," Sam replied huskily. He sped up, forcing Bucky to match pace. "Let me hear it."

Bucky growled, fucking them harder with his fist. "I hate you…so much," he panted, but he wasn't fooling anyone. His heart was pounding, his cock throbbing against Sam's, and he wasn't about to last much longer. He groaned through his teeth as his head fell back, letting Sam buck and support him. The pressure mounted and his balls tightened with want of release. He didn't give in yet, though; he waited until Sam was groaning, too, until his brow was drawn with strain and his hips ragged.

Bucky tried to outlast him, but then Sam licked his lips and moaned, "Come on, _baby_ ," and for some stupid reason that flicked the switch, and he came, painting their stomachs in pulse after pulse of sticky relief.

Sam grinned as if he'd planned it that way, and he looked so damn smug that Bucky shoved his hand further down and grabbed him by the balls. He didn't squeeze all that hard but Sam went rigid, a very undignified whine eking out of him as he came, too. Bucky wish he had a camera to capture the twisted, enraptured face he made as he trembled through a stuttering climax. It would have been nice to have something to hold over him, at least for a while.

Sam leaned back as he caught his breath, wiping his face against his shirt as if he already knew it had embarrassed him. "Okay," he panted. He drew his grin back into place. "I'll tell Steve you passed my—"

Bucky grabbed the bench for leverage and used his knees to throw Sam to the ground.

Once they'd both regained some composure they sat together at the edge of the track, sharing Bucky's towel and remaining water. It wasn't _quite_ as awkward as the last time, but Bucky still didn't know what to do or how to react. He wasn't sure if he should tell Sam _don't tell Steve_ or if he even needed to. As he pulled his shirt back on, Sam gave him a sideways look.

"Hey," said Sam, and there was seriousness there that stopped Bucky in his tracks. "For real, though. How are you?"

Bucky smoothed the shirt down his stomach as he considered. "I'm doing better," he said, though it wasn't until the words were out that he realized they were true. "A lot better, really. You can tell Steve I'm okay." But Sam was waiting for more, so he took in a deep breath. "But I'm still not there yet."

"No, I know." Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, not that I think you're…. It really hasn't been that long, so…."

Bucky let him sit in that hole he'd dug for a minute before surrendering the full truth. "The treatment is going well enough that we're going to try the list again later this week," he said, and Sam understood his gravity immediately. "T'Challa said he'd be there in case anything…got out of hand. I think it'll be okay, but…."

"Do you want me to stick around until then?" Sam offered, but Bucky shook his head.

"No." He smiled weakly. "I want you to have plausible deniability for Steve in case it goes sideways."

Sam winced, but Bucky didn't want him dwelling on any of that, so he borrowed Sam's shoulder and pushed to his feet. "That's not for a few days, though," he said. "I'm not going to throw you back on the plane just yet."

He offered his hand, and Sam accepted, allowing Bucky to haul him upright. "So are we roomies until then?"

"There's a guest room," Bucky said quickly. "And…a bar. If you're thirsty."

"Always." Sam smirked, and it made Bucky want to punch him, but instead he led the way off the track. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
